Read Online Demon Moon by Meljean Brook - Free Book Online

beauty of that realm.
    Enthralled by Colin.
    The streetlights washed over his features at regular intervals. His profile was as incredible as the rest of him. Even the rough shadow along his jaw enhanced his masculine perfection. She rubbed her tongue against the roof of her mouth; it suddenly seemed hot, tingly, as if she’d added too much cayenne to a dish.
    He took a deep breath, and his fingers clenched the steering wheel. The movement shook her out of her silent inspection. God. It was so easy to fall into a friendly banter with him, but she knew too well how his mood could change without warning. He could go from passion to humor to cruelty in the span of a smile; she’d be an idiot to forget what he was, just because it felt like heaven to look at him.
    And it was probably best to cover her stare with her curiosity. “Do you have to shave?” She bit her lip to contain her grin before she added, “Did you have a valet?”
    “Rarely; I also have to cut my hair, as do most vampires. And yes, until 1945.”
    “What happened in 1945?”
    “He died, and I learned to use a razor.”
    Without a mirror. Though she wanted to know what happened in Chaos, she wouldn’t broach that subject. Even after seven months, it must still be too raw. And Colin’s voice had taken on a rough edge; it hadn’t been there before, not even when he’d used his blood on her wounds.
    He reached out and pushed a button on the CD player. To silence her? She knew he could hear her over the music.
    The Velvet Underground. Lou Reed and a soft, delicate melody. Her smile widened when he shut it off. He had a lovely baritone; did he sing when he was alone?
    “Do my questions annoy you?”
    He glanced at her, his surprise evident. “No. I’m far too vain to object; I am my favorite topic.”
    His easy admission startled a laugh from her, but it faded when his gaze sharpened. The warmth spread from her mouth, burned through her stomach and settled low in her abdomen. “What is it then?”
    “We need to get out of the car,” he said, and turned onto Eddy Street. Near Polidori’s. “Your scent is…like a peach. Or a mango. And I’m starving.” A muscle in his cheek flexed. “I don’t always have control.”
    A shiver ran up her spine, but she couldn’t name its cause. Not simply fear or lust; what was in between? “You said you’d eaten.” Vampires—even Colin—didn’t need more than one feeding a night.
    “I did.” Frustration tightened his voice. “Is it your soap?”
    “No. It’s probably in my skin. I must’ve eaten a hundred mangoes when I was in India, and two more just before I left. I have no control over myself, either, but I stopped short of taking a mango bath,” she said, and waited for his smile. It came slowly. In the dim light, his teeth shone brilliantly white. “The mango wallahs sell them right on the street. Have you ever had one?”
    “No.” Another deep inhalation. “Tell me.”
    Tell me . Memory of the last time he’d issued that command flashed through her. She shifted in the seat, pressed her thighs together to ease the pulsing ache. “They’re more intense, brighter in flavor than a peach, and the flesh is firm and smooth and slippery. And the juice…cold, sunwarm—it doesn’t matter.” She looked down at her hands, remembering how sticky they’d been. “There aren’t any like them imported into the U.S.; you’ve got to be there to know what a really, really good mango is like.” Caelum on her tongue.
    “Did you return with any?” His question was so low, she almost didn’t hear it. He parked in a reserved space, killed the engine.
    “No; it’s too difficult to get through Customs. It’s easier to kill a nosferatu on a plane than take a piece of fruit on one.” She smiled wryly and glanced up. Her breath caught. He’d turned toward her; his face was expressionless but for the heat in his gaze. His eyes glittered with pale fire.
    Her mouth was parched; she seemed to be burning